St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1887-04-22
BITTER PENANCE.
A Marriage, a Bitter DisappOint-
ment and a Recognition.

-
A Marriage, a Bitter Disappoint-
ment and a Recognition.
The stage stopped at the porch of the
Great Mumpington hotel, the travellers
alighted-among them a striking looking
man in handsome coat. that with its
length and breadth Of shoulder. its fur
cuffs and fur collar gave him something
of Russian aspect. He was handsome,
elegant and about 30 years of age.
been to the wedding, Mrs. Crosby?"
said one. 'And did it not go off well?
And was the bride as pretty and the groom
as unimpOrtant as usual? A man is never
SO entirely overlooked as at his own we'd
ding, unless, indeed, his mother is there to
wonder why so fine fellow chose such a
girl"
''He, he" laughed Mrs. Crosby. "What
a man you are for jokes, MI. FELTON,! Well,
his mother wasn't there, l assure you, for
she must be too old to get about, if she's
living. He's so, am told. To think of
woman of 25 accepting such an old crea-
ture.'
But he's rich," said Boniface. ''She'll
be darling widow in year or so. One of
our bellies. SIR" he said, addressing the
stranger of whom we have spoken. Miss
Beulah Blair. Dr.. BIair's only daughter. as
pretty young lady as the sun shines on"
Every one at the table noticed the
strangers face as this communication fell
on his ear. His ruddy color faded, his
eyes dilated; he sat there as white as
though Smitten with death: for moment
he did not speak.
The blood rushed back to his face finally.
He lifted the glass at his plate in the air.
"a health to the BRIDE" he cried, land
long life to the bridegroom"
They drank the toast, one or two of them
forming the opinion that this fur-coated
stranger was some great tragedian, who had
resolved to astoniSh them.
They dispersed away to their own duties
or pleasures when the meal was over. He
assembled to the room to which his luggage
had been carried. His sudden pallor had
been no actors trick. The blood had for
saken his cheek at the bidding of terrible
emotion. From distant lands, where he
had toiled for nine long years to win fame
and fortune. he had returned, crowned
with success, to marry precisely this
Beulah Blair-this bride of the old
man of 80. She had vowed herself to him,
Worn his ring, written him the tenderest
of love letters and Tilted him at last. that is
if these people spoke truth. He is not one
to 60 away without making sure that there
was no mistake about that. Wrapping
himself up in his fur coat, he Staked out
of the house into the long village street
and took his way to the well known spot.
Dr., Blair had hidden him depart, reproach-
ing him for his audacity in counting his
only daughter-he poor and young and
without prospects. But she had met him
in the bit of woodland they knew so well
and vowed fidelity. Was this the end of
it all.
So it seemed. The house was all ablaze
with light, and approaching the long win
dows which opened Oh the garden he saw
her-Beulah! his Beulah! as he had so
often called her.
She stood there in her bridal dress, her
rich veil falling to her feet, shading but
not concealing her lovely face and hair and
the exquisite outline of her figure.
Returning to the hotel he wrote a long
and bitter letter. full Of reproaches and of
sarcasm, posted it and paid his bill. Before
daylight the handsome stranger had left the
town behind him. He sought in travel the
peace which no man ever yet found save in
his own heart.
He remained away five years. At the
end of that time he returned. He had left
his hOme-the home to which he had hoped
to return with his brlde-just as it had
been arranged, merely locking and barring
windows and doors. There was letter
box at the entrance, and into this a number
of letters and papers had been thrust from
without. for he had left no address behind
him.
Turning these over with careless hand
hc< TO 1.
ing. how we'll he knew it! She had,
then, replied to his letter. With trem-
bling hand he tore it open and read these
words:
DEAR ARCHIBALD: Yes always dear to
me. Had deserved your reproaches should
not write these words. They told me you
were married to a woman of fortune and title
"a German countess. l believed them.
married whom they chose to give me to-
thought my old husband kind and worthy.
respected him. Alas! / cannot do that anv
longer. He died suddenly week after our
wedding day and in his desk found your let
tiers, which he had purloined and secreted,
and also proof of the conspiracy by which he
forced me to believe you married to another
l shall strive to forgive him, but L do not
know that it will be in my power. Your I'M
happy BEULAH.
The date was that of nearly five years be-
fore. Even at that period he had loved
her still, but he had so carefully taught
himself to despise and hate her that the let
ter seemed at first to have no effect upon
him.
The train bore him swiftly to Great
Mumpington. The old stage carried hi m
to the hotel. 1t was dinner time Again
the affable landlord sat at the head of his
table. He recognized his guest at once.
''Great Mumpington does not charge
much. SIR" he said. ''There was we'd
ding here the day you spent with us. Do
you remember?-Dr. Blair's daughter mar
ried rich man of 80! Well, sir, he died
within week, and in looking over his papers
they found something that proved him a
rascal The BRIDES father was in the affair."
1twas mystery to US all. But the lady
showed great spirit. She refused to touch
a penny of old Robinet's money; and she
also left her fathers house. Since then she
has supported herself by sewing. She lives
in little two-roomed house on the West
road, near the Eagle rock. rm afraid her
life is hard one.
Later Archibald Barton walked in the
moonlight along the road that ran past
Eagle rock. He knew the little two-roomed
cottage well. A light burned within.
Across the lower panes of the window hung
white muslin curtain.
Approaching he looked over the top and
saw woman bending over some needle.
work. 1t was Beulah's tair head. The
simplicity OF Its arrangement only added to
the beauty of her splendid hair. Her cot
ton gown of indigo hlue huttonad RI +ha